


attracting cadavers and their killers

by demonicweirdo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - High School, High School Drama, Humor, M/M, Murder Mystery, Sexual Tension, Teen Derek Hale, minor Stiles/Ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicweirdo/pseuds/demonicweirdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had expectations about high school, sure. But his ex-boyfriend depending on him to solve a murder he's pegged for? Stiles never saw that coming. And suddenly he's tripping over dead bodies, meeting anonymous witnesses in the middle of the night, and hiding under Derek Hale's bed, all in the name of justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	attracting cadavers and their killers

**Author's Note:**

> This story is heavily, _heavily_ influenced by a book called _Deadly Cool_ by Gemma Halliday, You don't need to read it to understand this fic, but I encourage you to anyway, because it's a great book.  
>  I mean, the dude, Chase, even owns a Camaro. And _Star Wars_ sheets, I had to write this fic!  
>  Apologising for any Briticisms (I'm from NZ)

“It isn't one of yours?” Scott asked, glancing around the crowded corridor.

Stiles shook his head, a horrible taste in his throat as he held the torn condom wrapper between his fingers. He glanced back at the locker, checking the name graffitied on the door. _Ethan Carver._ Yep. He wasn't mistaken. This was his boyfriend's locker.

“We haven't... uh, we haven't... we've only used mine, you know?” He was very particular over his brand of condoms.

Scott nodded. “Looks like Jackson was right,” he murmured. He plucked the condom wrapper out of Stiles' fingers and dropped it into the trash, then slammed Ethan's locker closed and put an arm around Stiles' shoulders. “Dude. We'll tag team him, or... we could prank him?” Scott suggested hesitantly.

Stiles sighed and shook his head. He really had hoped that Ethan would be different, he had hoped, somewhat naïvely, that he'd be the one to tame the beast. Ethan wasn't the stereotypical bad boy per se (though that was a major turn-on for Stiles), but he _was_ known to... frequent the gay clubs and walk home shamelessly in the same clothes he had been wearing the previous night.

“I need to talk to him. I need... I need to cut his goddamn cheating dick off,” Stiles gritted out. A few students they had passed gave Stiles a concerned, wary look, and Stiles glared at them. He wasn't in the mood. First, he had to be told by _Matt Daehler_ of all people, that Ethan was caught banging Danny Mahealani in the alley beside _Jungle_ , and then he was approached by Danny himself, all dimples and puppy-dog eyes, to be told that Danny had _no idea_ Ethan was still with Stiles, and that it was a one-time thing, and that he felt really bad about it, but Ethan had been banging Ennis Wade for weeks and he thought Stiles should know.

Stiles always hated tuesdays.

Scott squeezed his shoulder. “I'm coming with you. I can hold him down, you punch?”

* * *

It was after school, and Stiles stood outside Ethan's house, staring at the empty driveway. “He isn't replying to any of my texts. He's hiding.”

Scott shook his head. “What a coward.” He clapped his hands together. “Shall we tag his room?” He brought out a spraypaint can from his hoodie pocket and brandished it like a weapon.

Stiles pulled a face. Scott seemed to take them everywhere, it was like an obsession with him. His tag, _True Alpha,_ was basically on every abandoned building in town, and he had even managed to tag the roofs of some suburban homes.

Stiles peered around, but the street seemed to be deserted, apart from a man in his slippers and dressing gown (four in the afternoon, dude, get a life) checking his mail, and a dark shape leaning on a dark Camaro, hunched over what was presumably a phone.

Stiles shrugged. “Okay. I would just like to point out now, that this is an epic role reversal. I'm the one with the illegal plans and ambiguously moral ideas.”

Scott nodded and headed for the garage. “I thought I'd pick up the slack. And I suppose you're an expert on sneaking into his bedroom?”

Stiles pulled a face. “Dude. I'm not a booty call. Is it murder if he deserves it?”

Scott scaled the garage with the agility and stealth of a street artist, before wheezing and taking a few puffs of his inhaler. Stiles followed him slightly less-gracefully. They climbed up to Ethan's second story window and Stiles took out his ever-present pocket knife (look, there was an astounding amount of murders in Beacon Hills, okay? Self-defense) and jimmied the lock on it.

Stiles pushed the window open and had a fleeting moment of doubt. Not that Ethan had cheated, because of course he had, Stiles was the fool for hoping he wouldn't. Stiles just doubted that breaking into his boyfriend's house just to vandalise his room was an exercise in being the bigger person.

But like he said, the moment was fleeting.

“We could go for the classics: penises,” Scott whispered as Stiles clambered into the room.

“Seriously dude, we're not eighth graders, and also, no one's home, so you don't need to whisper.”

“What about Aiden?” Scott asked worriedly. Aiden was the scary twin, the one with the glares and the intimidation.

Stiles scratched at his neck. “He's in LA for some football game all week. Their parents went, too.”

Scott grinned and held up the can. There was a smattering of dried, red paint on it. Red was the _best_ colour to vandalise with. Stiles taught Scott well.

Stiles grinned at his friend and looked around Ethan's room, wondering what they should deface first. Maybe the three thousand dollar computer, or-

“ _Holy mother of god!_ ” Stiles shrieked, backing into Scott and grabbing his arm in a tight, white-knuckled grip.

It took Scott a few seconds to see what Stiles was looking at: a body, the face pale with a slightly-purplish tinge to it, white iPod headphones wrapped tightly around the neck and wrists, bringing the hands up to cover most of the face. The body was lying on the bed, the bedside table knocked over and a poster ripped down.

“I-is that...”

“Ennis,” Stiles said faintly.

Thankfully, the door was right behind them, so they backed out, their shoulders bumping against the doorframe, before turning around and bolting downstairs, yelling in panic and fear. Stiles wrenched the front door open and they spilled out onto the sidewalk, their limbs tangled together as they whimpered “Oh my god,” over and over.

Stiles didn't realise he had his eyes closed until he felt the sun blocked from him and he opened them to see a large, hulking, dark figure standing over them. He gave a little shout and shot to his feet.

“Whoa, relax,” the guy said, holding out his hands placatingly.

“Relax?” Stiles repeated, his voice a higher pitch. “We just found a dead body, and you're dressed in black with scowly eyebrows and you look like a serial killer and you're _here_ and you're telling me to calm down?”

Scott took a few puffs of his inhaler and stepped closer to Stiles.

The emo dude drew his eyebrows together. “A dead body? At the Carvers?”

Stiles gulped down another hysterical retort and forced himself to calm down. It wasn't the first body he had seen, it had just been a long day and it _was_ the first body that he had seen of someone he _knew_.

“Ethan's room,” Scott answered in a quiet voice.

The guy brushed past them and entered the house. While he was inside, Stiles worked to calm his breathing. He couldn't call his father until he was calm enough to recall the details. His mind was clearing faster by the second, and he whacked Scott on the arm. “Dude, that was Derek Hale.”

Scott gave him a blank look. “Who?”

“You remember, right? His family almost burned to death in a fire like, ten years ago. He was... six? Seven?”

Scott's face cleared in recognition. “Oh, him. I thought the Hales were in New York. What's he doing back?”

Stiles shrugged, feeling the house at his back like a heavy weight in his shoulders, the room with the body that used to be Ennis a black mark on his memory. “Looking at dead bodies, apparently.”

Derek came out significantly paler, his jaw set and determined. “We, uh... We need to call the cops.” He already had his phone out and his fingers started dialling, but Stiles grabbed his hand and stopped him.

Derek looked up and narrowed his eyes at Stiles, who took out his own phone. “I'd prefer to do it,” he told Derek. He speed-dialled his dad and waited for him to pick up.

“Stiles, I'm at work, you know not to-”

“Dad,” Stiles interrupted. The sheriff went quiet straight away, reading something in Stiles' tone. Derek frowned at Stiles and opened his mouth to say something, so Stiles held up a hand to shush him. “We... We, uh... We found a dead body. Again.”

“Are you okay? Stiles, where are you? What happened?”

Stiles sucked in a breath and let it out shakily. “It's a kid from school. In, uh... In Ethan's room. Dead. Strangled, signs of... of struggle, a-and- Just, can you get here?”

“I'll be there in five minutes,” his dad said, before hanging up.

There was a beat of silence.

“What do you mean “again”?” Derek asked.

Stiles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling completely out of control and overwhelmed by the situation. “Let's just say Scott's a great sniffer dog.”

Scott glared at him. “You're talking like I'm the weird morbid one, Stiles. You're the one who said _there's a dead body in the woods, you're helping me find it_.”

* * *

“Mr Stilinski, I'm going to need to ask you a few questions,” Agent McCall said, his notebook out and his pen poised for action.

Stiles pulled a face. “I love how sensitive you are to the fact that I just found a _dead body._ I could be in shock. I want a shock blanket.”

Scott's dad sighed and ignored him. “So Ethan Carver is your... boyfriend?”

Stiles nodded and bit his lip. “Yeah.”

“And the victim, Ennis Wade. What was his relationship with your boyfriend?”

Stiles looked away and shrugged. “I dunno, you're the FBI, you figure it out.”

“Stiles. Why did you sneak into your boyfriend's room?”

“Because I wanted to surprise him?” Stiles replied hesitantly.

Rafael gave him a flat look. “What I think is this: Ethan cheated on you with Ennis. You found out. And then one of two things happened.”

Stiles could tell he was going to hate where this was going. “Enlighten me.”

“Either Ethan found out that you knew and killed Ennis to keep him quiet, or you killed Ennis in a fit of rage.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Stiles tried to contemplate the fact that Scott's dad thought he was a killer. _Him_.

“ _Fit of rage_? Jesus Christ, you're really grasping at straws, aren't you? I can say for certain that Ennis wasn't killed by myself, or my boyfriend.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Stiles' father's voice spoke up from behind him. Stiles jumped and forced his heartbeat to calm down. He always freaked out after finding a dead body. “Are you accusing my son of murder, Agent McCall?”

“What?” Scott called out from a few feet away, leaning against a cop car with a shock blanket around his shoulders. Why did he get the shock blanket? “Dad, seriously? You've known Stiles his whole life.”

Rafael didn't even look guilty, the fucker, he just frowned and peered at his notebook. “Stiles, the CSU team is dusting the house for fingerprints as we speak. Just tell the truth and make it easier on everyone.”

Stiles groaned and hung his head. He just wanted to go home and sleep. No, not sleep, nightmares were a certainty by now. Watch a whole season of whatever show he chooses to download in one night sounded pretty tempting. A not-so-healthy form of escapism was just what he needed.

“Okay. We climbed through the window-” His father sighed heavily, “-with the intent of, uh... well I can tell you that we _weren't_ going to vandalise Ethan's room, that's for sure.”

Rafael held up Scott's can of spray paint with a stern face.

Stiles swallowed. “Yeah, well, anyway... What doesn't make sense is the fact that you are willing to believe that myself and your asthmatic son brought down a giant like Ennis Wade.”

Rafael glanced at Scott uneasily. “I don't-”

“Look,” Stiles interrupted. “It's pretty obvious that Scotty and I broke in at the same time. Are you saying you're willing to peg me as a suspect for a _murder_ , and completely disregard the fact that your own son was with me the whole time?”

The sheriff clapped a hand on Stiles' shoulder and steered him away with a cold look in Rafael's direction. “We're done here. Agent.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Stiles turned to his dad. “What about the breaking and entering charges?”

His father sighed. “In a murder case, the murder is the main concern. If he somehow suspects you did it, but has no evidence, he'll bring you in for it and then question you about the murder.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “That's legal?”

The sheriff looked around. “Look, McCall may have taken over the investigation, but this is my town and my crime scene. I'll get Parrish to drive you home, okay?”

Stiles nodded, despite the fact that he actually drove here himself and that he really just wanted some alone time to think about what had happened. He hadn't let himself freak out, and he could tell, by his father's side-glances, that he was concerned. But Stiles... his brain was calm, finally, and curious. He wasn't going to throw up five times like Scott had, he wasn't going to flee before the cops got there like Derek had (his only explanation had been to pull out a packet of weed and then walk off).

He was going to go home and order his thoughts into a sensible explanation for the events that had occurred that _didn't_ incriminate his boyfriend or his taste in men.

* * *

The moment Stiles got inside, he took his phone out and sent _where the fuck are you_ to Ethan. Before he realised that, of course, Rafael would be monitoring his text messages and phone calls. If he were smart. Stiles was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, here.

He went upstairs, intending to head for the mini fridge in his room and drink the six-pack of Red Bull he had stashed in there to fight off the sleep and the nightmares. And to sharpen his mind, so he could focus.

But the moment he opened the door, the hallway light bleeding into the room and exposing the shadows, Stiles yelled out and flailed back, his arm hitting the wall, desperately searching to find the light switch.

Once he did, the silhouette on the bed lit up and Stiles made out the muscled, defined shoulders, the hair, the _shirt_ (Stiles had made him buy it because _damn_ , did it cling to his body) of Ethan Carver.

“Ethan!” Stiles' voice was high and slightly panicked. “You scared the _crap_ out of me, what the hell?”

Ethan stood up, the relief evident on his face. “Stiles, thank god.” He took a few steps towards Stiles, his arms reaching for his neck and his lips no doubt preparing for a kiss.

Stiles clenched his fist and shoved Ethan away. “Get the _fuck_ away from me, Ethan. There was a dead guy, _in your room!_ ”

Ethan held his hands out placatingly. “Stiles, baby, come on, calm down.”

Stiles glared at him. “Call me 'baby' one more time and I swear you'll regret it. What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

Ethan's arms dropped to his sides. “I needed to see you, Stiles. I... Everything's fucked up.”

“So you decided to come here. To the sheriff's house. When there's a dead guy in your room and the feds are on your back?”

“I didn't kill Ennis!” Ethan exclaimed defensively.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Where were you after school today?”

Ethan let out a breath and brushed a hand through his hair. “I... Look, I heard you were pissed, so I... after lacrosse practise I went to Matt's. I come back, and there's cops everywhere.”

Stiles shook his head. “Why did you run, then? If you didn't do it?”

“I uh... I may have had some weed on me.”

Stiles groaned and leaned against the wall. “You're such a moron. Why don't you just go to the police and tell them everything? You could help the investigation.”

“Stiles, they've been looking for me. They've already been to Jennifer's, Kali's, Matt's. Ennis was found in my room. They'll arrest me at first sight.”

Stiles rubbed a hand down his face tiredly. “This is insane. You're eighteen! You could go to prison.”

Ethan flinched. “What do I do?”

Stiles shook his head. “Get out of here. Lay low. Wait until the cops figure this one out.”

“They're too busy looking for me to find the real killer, Stiles, and you know it.”

Stiles glared at him. “Then _I'll_ figure it out, okay?”

Ethan scoffed. “You're not a detective.”

Stiles groaned. “Oh my god, shut up, I literally want to punch you in the face right now and there is _nothing_ stopping me. I'll fucking help you, I'll ask around, I'll find out who killed him. But not for you. We're done, we're over. I'm helping you, because I believe you, and there's an actual killer out there.”

Ethan's face fell. “I didn't-”

“Sleep with Danny? Sleep with _Ennis_? Because those were the rumours I was getting, Ethan. And Danny actually _told_ me. So get your lying ass out of my room.”

Ethan hesitated. “Where will I go? How will I talk to you?”

“I don't care if you have to sleep under the bridge with the homeless,” Stiles said, even though he kind of did. He wasn't _that_ cruel, but the guy couldn't stay here. Stiles crossed the room and rummaged through the pile of books and papers on his desk, ignoring Ethan, who was hovering behind him. He found what he was looking for and shoved it into Ethan's chest. “That's my old phone. I'll text you.”

Stiles walked over to the window and held it open. After a long look, and a sad smile, Ethan climbed through, and was gone.

“What the fuck has happened to my life?” Stiles muttered.

* * *

“You're _what_? Stiles, he was lying! He totally did it!” Scott whispered.

Stiles glanced around the cafeteria. Everyone was staring at him, but everyone had been staring at him all day. They were whispering to each other, gossiping, and a few even cast their eyes down, as if afraid, when they made eye contact with him.

“Scott, he may have cheated on me, but he isn't a killer.”

Scott frowned. “He killed your relationship, who's to say he didn't kill Ennis, too?”

“ _I'm_ to say that. Scott, I can't... I can't do this without your help. Please?”

Scott held his gaze for a few seconds, before stealing his pudding cup and sighing. “Fine. But if I get arrested for this, I'm selling you for a packet of cigarettes in prison.”

Stiles pulled a face. “Hilarious, Scott.”

Scott frowned. “Dude, we're not detectives. We don't have the resources or the legal boundaries to conduct a murder investigation.”

Stiles grinned. “We're the sons of two law enforcement agents, Scott. We can do this.We just have to be subtle about it.” Because lord knows every other time they tried to help the sheriff on one of his cases they weren't.

Scott tilted his head. “Where do we start?”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, no use going through Ennis' enemies. That's three quarters of the school.”

“What about who had access to Ethan's bedroom yesterday?”

“His whole family was away.” Stiles frowned for a second, his thoughts catching on an idea. “Wait. Ennis was wearing different clothes than the ones he wore at school, right?”

Scott shrugged. “I guess.”

“Which means he went home to change before going to Ethan's. Judging by where he lives, that's about half an hour. We've got a very small window between the end of school, and when we found him. Adding in his trip home, that would make it between three fifteen and about...”

“Three forty-five.”

Stiles grinned. “And guess who lives nearby and could've seen something?”

Scott frowned. “You're not talking about-”

“Derek Hale.”

“But _Stiles_ ,” Scott whined. “He scares me.”

* * *

Stiles prided himself on knowing things, so it was annoying to find out that Derek edited the school newspaper and Stiles never knew.

But, at least they knew where he'd be. In the computing class, where the newspaper people spent most of their lunchtimes.

Stiles thought they were nerds in the most respectful way.

He opened the door slightly and peeked his head through. Derek was leaning over some kid's shoulder, reading the screen in front of them. Stiles' mouth went dry wen he realised that the kid was _Isaac Lahey_. Seriously, the object of Stiles' fantasies for so long before he went out with Ethan.

Scott elbowed him. “Stiles, stop ogling him and get Derek. Jeez.” Yeah, Scott _may_ have been on the receiving end of Stiles waxing poetic about Isaac's curls, but then, Scott seemed to forget that Stiles was _constantly_ on the receiving end of him waxing poetic about Allison's curls.

“Derek,” Stiles called.

Derek and Isaac spun around. They both wore twin scowls, but Derek just trudged towards Stiles and pushed him out of the door, closing it behind them and crossing his arms. “What do you want?”

Scott glared at him, instinctively reacting to Derek's hostility. Stiles nudged him and turned back to Derek. “Dude, we didn't really get a chance to introduce ourselves after you ran off. I'm Stiles.” He stuck out his grin and gave Derek what he hoped was his most charming smile.

Derek's eyes drew together even more. “I know who you are. Rumours.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “And you're Derek Hale. Great, we know who everyone is now, Stiles. Can we please get on with it?”

Derek tilted his head. “Get on with what?”

Stiles squinted at him. It was unnerving, how much bigger he was than Stiles remembered. He was only a couple of inches taller than Stiles, but he held himself with a kind of menacing air. And not to mention the fact that he smelled like leather and coffee and they smelled _amazing_ together.

“Uh, right, yeah, um... we were wondering if you saw anything yesterday? You know, before we got there?”

Derek's face cleared. “You're investigating the murder.”

Stiles shifted his weight. “Look, well... yeah, I mean, we are, but not... you make it sound weird.”

Scott raised his eyebrows. “You called it _Operation: Find who killed that cheating son-of-a-bitch's booty-call_.”

Stiles sighed, and Derek frowned at them. “I saw you two.”

“We didn't kill him,” Scott clarified.

“Didn't you?”

Stiles scoffed. “Do we look like killers to you?”

Derek gave Scott a once over, and then he was giving Stiles a slow assessment, his gaze flicking down his body and then coming up to Stiles' face with a smirk.

Stiles threw his hands up, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Dude, come on! Did you see anything?”

Derek huffed. “Cars come and go. But... I can help you.”

Stiles leaned forward a bit. “Help us how?”

Derek shrugged. “I'm the editor of the school newspaper. I know where to go if you need answers. I know how to get those answers. You're going to need my help.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You sound so sure. What's in it for you?”

“I want the exclusive story.”

Scott sighed. “Reporters.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Stiles glanced at Scott, who shrugged, before turning back to Derek. His skills would be useful, or at least his intimidating demeanor. And Stiles had to admit, Derek piqued his curiosity. Stiles held out his hand. “Okay.”

Derek shook it, his hand warm and callused and _wow_ , Stiles did not need to think about how those calluses would feel on other parts of Stiles' skin when there was a murderer on the loose.

“So what are your leads so far?”

Stiles bit his lip. “That, uh... nothing, so far? We're working on it.”

Derek smirked again, all smug and annoying. “Why don't you try Ennis' friends?”

* * *

Matt was away from school, but then, he barely ever actually showed up to school, so Stiles was down to questioning Kali and Jennifer.

Which, great. Stiles remembered Kali making out with him once, thirty seconds of heaven, before reaching for his pants. When he stopped her, because she was drunk and at a party, she sneered at him and sauntered off to vomit in a pot plant. He was just lucky she didn't remember.

And then there was the fact that he dated Jennifer. And broke up with her.

“I just... it's so _sudden_. One moment he was alive and the next he... wasn't,” Jennifer sniffed.

Stiles refrained from making a sarcastic comment, barely.

“I'm sure that must be very hard for you,” Scott told her gently. “But we need to know... when was the last time you saw Ennis?”

Jennifer and Kali exchanged looks. “Uh... we were ditching with him before lunch.”

“Okay,” Stiles cut in. “Do you know of anyone that might want Ennis dead?”

Kali gave him a pointed look.

Stiles sighed. “ _Not_ me. Anyone else?”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. I know who killed him.”

Stiles leaned forward. “Who?”

Jennifer jabbed a manicured finger in his chest. “Ethan Carver. Ethan Carver killed Ennis, and you're in on it!”

Stiles took a step back. Jennifer's eyes were crazy, her expression furious as she rounded in on him, taking steps forward as he took steps back because _wow_ , those nails were sharp. “Bullshit. I had nothing to do with it.”

“You didn't?” Jennifer sneered. “Ennis got a text, when we were hanging out with him. From Ethan. To meet up with him at his house. And then _you_ go and find his body there, just like that, huh?”

Stiles stood his ground, gently nudging her away. “Thank you for your time,” he said, walking away, not looking behind him to see if Scott and Derek were following. Some reporter he was, he didn't say a word the whole time.

“You have a way of handling teenage girls,” Derek noted, falling into step beside him.

“All teenagers are dramatic, not just girls. You should see Scott when he's grounded. He throws the biggest tantrum.”

“Do not,” Scott interjected.

“And also, I've dealt with Kali and Jennifer before.”

“He dated Jennifer and made out with Kali.”

Stiles glared at Scott, while Derek raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? They don't seem like your type.”

Stiles directed his glare at Derek. “You barely know me. What do you think my type is, huh?”

Derek shot a distasteful look over his shoulder at Jennifer and Kali. “Not that.”

Stiles thought about being offended, because Derek was most likely implying that Jennifer and Kali were out of his league, the fucker, but he just shrugged it off. “I need to find a computer.”

* * *

“How are you even sure that Ethan is innocent?” Derek asked, leaning, way too close, over Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles turned his head from the screen to scowl at him, but their faces were closer than he had anticipated, and their noses brushed. Derek's eyes flitted down briefly, and Stiles licked his lips on reflex.

“Because we just are,” Scott replied. Stiles jerked back from Derek and shot Scott a look, but he was scrolling through something on his phone. He wouldn't have witnessed the moment.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Right. That.”

“So what exactly are you doing?”

Stiles typed a few lines of code in the box that came up. “Ennis' phone will have a record of all the texts sent to and from his phone. Since Scott's dad has his phone at the moment, I have taken it upon myself to hack into the phone company his phone belongs to and going through their archives.”

Scott straightened. “When did you learn to do this?”

Stiles shrugged. “Danny taught me once.”

Scott grinned. “Before or after you dated?”

Stiles scowled at the screen. “After we dated, but before he had sex with my boyfriend,” he gritted out.

Derek whistled. “Are you sure you want to get this guy off a murder charge?”

Stiles huffed out a bitter laugh. “Ethan didn't do it. All I want I is to find out who did. In case you didn't notice, Derek, there's a murderer out there.”

“Or a murderer in here,” Scott pointed out, giving Derek a suspicious look. “Wait, you haven't read _my_ texts, have you?”

Stiles snorted. “I don't want to, trust me.”

Stiles tapped his finger lightly on the spacebar and waited for the results.

Once the screen loaded with Ennis' history, Stiles leaned back in his chair. “What the fuck?”

Derek leaned forward to peer at the screen, and then widened his eyes. “That guy had a lot of booty calls.”

Stiles sighed and scrolled down.

_E.Carver : we need 2 meet up asap my place after skool_

Stiles shook his head. “That wasn't him. He doesn't text like that.”

Scott hummed in agreement. “He's worse. Doesn't believe in vowels.”

Derek looked doubtful, but hey, he was just along for the ride, right?

Stiles squinted at the screen. “Hey, wait a second. There's a message from Jackson Whittemore.” At Derek and Scott's blank looks, Stiles sighed.  "They hate each other?” He clicked into the text.

_J.Whittemore: I saw u, pay up, dickhead._

There was a moment of silence.

“Well,” Stiles started, ”we know who to talk to next.”

Stiles dug out his phone and typed in a new message. _Did you send Ennis a text yesterday?_ He sent it to his old phone, the one that Ethan was in possession of.

He replied instantly. _No, y wld I? Kno who the kllr is yet?_

He put the phone back in his pocket just before the bell rang.

* * *

There were a thousand things running through his mind while he walked to chem, but being ambushed by the scary guidance counsellor was not one of them.

“Stiles, it's good that I ran into you,” Marin said smoothly. “I was hoping we could schedule an appointment.”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder at the door to the class he was meant to be in. “Is this because I found a dead body? Because I'm over it. One hundred per cent, done. I'm great, I'm fine, and I'm also late to class.”

Marin gave him a small smile. “You can come in at any time, Stiles. When it starts to overwhelm you.”

Stiles ducked into the classroom and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the seat next to Jackson Whittemore empty.

Jackson and Ennis were so alike that they hated each other. Jackson hated that Ennis was better at lacrosse, and Ennis hated Jackson for going out with Lydia, his ex.

Jackson clenched his jaw when Stiles sat down. “What are you doing? Danny sits there.”

“I have to ask you a few questions, and then Danny can go back to sitting here.”

Jackson scowled. “Is this about your murdering boyfriend?”

Stiles sighed, really wishing he didn't have to do this. “You texted Ennis yesterday, didn't you?”

Jackson's eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“I just do, okay?”

Jackson huffed. “What's it to you?”

Stiles groaned. “Oh, my god, just work with me here. Did you, or did you not, send a fairly threatening text message to Ennis?”

Jackson glared at him some more. “Yes, he gritted out. “But I didn't kill him.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow in disbelief, because they guy was looking pretty murderous right now. “Didn't you?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “No, _dumbass_. If you read the text, you'd know that I wanted him to pay me, right? Why the hell would I want him dead before I got the money?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “What were you blackmailing him about?”

* * *

Scott kept checking his phone every five seconds, and Stiles was tapping his fingers against his knee, leaning against his jeep, waiting for Jackson. He finally spotted Jackson, coming out of the school building, sporting a scowl as he made his way towards them.

“So, you said you'd tell me after school,” Stiles reminded him. “What were you blackmailing Ennis for?”

Jackson shrugged. “I'm not even sure if you'd want to see it.”

Scott frowned at him. “See what?”

Jackson sighed and took out his phone, scrolling through a few things before touching the play button on a video.

Stiles had a bad feeling about it, a sick feeling in his stomach, but he watched anyway.

The phone's camera was, unfortunately, great, and the picture quality was near perfect.

The camera was shaking a little, but it showed what was definitely the band room. And what was definitely two people tangled together. Two dudes, shirtless, and kissing.

Moans filled the room, and Stiles recognised Ethan's straight away.

He pushed at Jackson's hand and Jackson stopped the video, an amused smirk on his face. “After that, I told him I had the video. Not many people want to get on the bad side of the sheriff's son, so I thought I could blackmail him with it. Unfortunately, your boyfriend had to kill him before I could collect.”

Stiles' mouth was dry. It was one thing, knowing about it, but it was another thing to actually _see_ his boyfriend making out with another guy. A guy who was now dead.

“So, obviously, I didn't kill him. I didn't get my money, and I have an alibi. I was with Lydia that afternoon.”

Scott frowned. “How can we believe that?”

Jackson shrugged. “Ask her.”

Stiles thought about it for a second. “Nah. She scares me.” He looked around the crowds briefly, not with the intention of finding Derek but he found him anyway, walking out of the school building, right towards Stiles.

Stiles turned back to Jackson and grinned at him, though he felt it was rather hollow. “Thanks for showing us the video of my ex-boyfriend cheating on me, you can go now.”

Jackson shot him a dirty look and walked off, while Scott clapped a hand on his shoulder and flashed him a grin. “Proud of you, dude. I was half expecting you to grab his phone and snap it in half.”

“What's the deal with Jackson?” Derek asked.

“He didn't kill Ennis, so we're back to no leads,” Stiles muttered.

Derek shook his head. “Not quite.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. He was looking more... grumpy than usual. His hair was spiked up as if he had been pulling at it, and his forehead was creased in concern. His eyes had shadows under them, though Stiles thought that was part of the emo-vibe he had going on. Stiles peered closer, because what _the fuck_ was with his eyes?

“What?” Scott asked.

Stiles blinked and looked away, at Scott, who looked like he was trying not to laugh at him. “Uh... nothing?” _Shit_ , he said that out loud.

Scott snickered, and Derek looked amused, if a little confused. “I got an anonymous tip through the newspaper. About Ennis.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “Uh, so, what was it?”

Derek leaned against Stiles' jeep. “This person referred to themselves as _The Benefactor_.” He scrunched up his face in distaste, because really, that was the shittiest codename ever. “They said they knew who killed Ennis.”

Scott snorted. “Right. I'm sure it's not just some kid looking to stir up trouble.”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, who was it?”

Derek shook his head. “They said they'd only tell you. Apparently word has spread that you're going all Nancy Drew.”

Stiles scowled. “I feel like that isn't a compliment. Did they say _how_ they wanted to tell me?”

“They want to meet up with you, at midnight, on the lacrosse field. Alone.”

Scott shook his head. “This doesn't actually sound...” His phone buzzed and he looked at it, a smile spreading over his face, “safe. Look, I have to go meet up with Ally, I'll see you guys later.” He walked away without actually looking up from his phone, and Stiles sighed.

Derek turned to him. “You're not going.”

Stiles scoffed. “Uh... what?”

“Scott was right, this sounds shady.”

“I wasn't going to go!” Stiles protested.

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Yes you are. I can see it, you're going to go.”

“Look, dude, this is the only real lead we have right now.”

Derek's face got all stormy. “I'm not letting you go, Stiles, this is-”

“ _Letting me?_ What the fuck, Derek, you're not 'letting me' do anything! I don't need your permission for jack shit.”

Derek straightened. “Now you're being ridiculous. Stiles, I don't want you to get hurt.”

Stiles pulled a face at that. “Really? Because I've _been_ hurt, Derek. I was cheated on, I found a dead body, and now everyone in the school thinks I'm a killer! I need to figure this out and if you're going to stop me because you'd feel _guilty_ if I got hurt-”

“That's not what I-”

“-then we've lost every hope of actually figuring this out.”

Derek shook his head, exasperated. “Why are you even doing this? Ethan _cheated_ on you. More than once. Why are you trying to get him off a murder charge?”

Stiles stepped closer to him, jabbing a finger in his chest. “I _know_ he cheated on me, everybody knows that! It wasn't like I didn't see it coming! I'm just trying to solve this because the police are going after the _wrong_ person and in case you didn't care, there's a murderer at this school, in our classes.”

Derek clenched his jaw. “Fine, you can go meet this psycho killer by yourself at midnight at the lacrosse field, like an idiot. I don't care!”

“Fine!”

“Great!”

“Good!”

Stiles stepped back and glanced around them. Every eye in the parking lot was turned to them, some people whispering, some people laughing, but most of them looking suspicious. Because the whole school thought he was a killer, great.

When Stiles looked back, Derek had stormed off.

* * *

Thankfully, the sheriff had a night shift. He wasn't allowed to investigate the case himself (if he was, it would be solved by now),but he was required to assist Rafael with anything and everything, and Rafael had him running around in circles.

Stiles trudged upstairs, a Red Bull in his hand and a packet of doritos. Or three. And no, he was _not_ comfort eating, and certainly not because of the screaming match between him and Derek in the parking lot. If anything, it was the fact that he saw Ethan making sex noises with Ennis and seriously, Ennis wasn't even _hot_. Well, okay, maybe he was, but.. he looked, like, thirty. It was kinda creepy. And Stiles would be getting drunk right now, because that was _exactly_ what he wanted to do, but he had to sneak out at midnight and he needed to be coherent.

Stiles wore his black jeans, a black shirt, a black hoodie, and a black beanie. And then he thought, well, the beanie was a bit much and he wasn't in a spy movie.

He looked out the window to see a cop car parked outside the front, most likely Parrish. Parrish was a good cop, albeit a fucking wet dream, seriously, was he a model? But, despite his friendliness, he wouldn't hesitate to report any sneaking out to his father, or worse, Rafael.

So Stiles climbed through his father's bedroom window, facing out the back, and jumped over all the fences in his block until he was free from the eyes of the law.

Fortunately, Beacon Hills wasn't big, so it didn't take long to reach the lacrosse field. It brought back memories, all of them painful. Stiles had quit lacrosse in solidarity for Scott, who had to quit because of his asthma. He never liked it anyway, Scott was the reason he joined in the first place.

Stiles stepped onto the field, the lights, for some reason, turned off. He was starting to get a bad feeling about it all, but before he could chicken out, he called out, “Hello?”

There was no answer at first, and then he saw a dark, small-ish figure walking towards him from the other side. The night shadowed their face, but Stiles narrowed his eyes, because he swore he could see the curves of a female.

“Are you alone?” the girl asked him, stopping a few feet in front of him.

“Yes,” Stiles answered. “I'm alone.” _And wondering if that was such a good idea._

“I saw who killed Ennis Wade,” she continued. Her voice was starting to stir up a memory in Stiles, but he figured he could find out who it was later on.

Stiles leaned forward. “Who?” he asked, his voice soft as if he were trying not to spook her.

The girl took a step forward, and then made a strangled noise and turned around, running in the opposite direction.

Stiles darted after her, but he tripped on something large, and fell flat on his face. He got up straight away and looked down. What lay there, at his feet, looked like-

The lights of the lacrosse field switched on all at once, lighting up like daytime, and Stiles looked back down at Kali Terrel, her body twisted at an awkward angle, her eyes open and unseeing, blood streaking her face.

Stiles yelped and backed away. “No, no, not again,” he muttered. The blood was everywhere, it was on his shoes, and he could feel it on his hands where he had touched the grass.

He turned and ran, because he didn't have his phone on him and the murderer could still be out there, and he needed to get _Parrish._

Stiles got as far as the bleachers when he felt someone grab him from behind. “ _Rape!_ ” he screeched, twisting around, flailing.

“Stiles, get a grip,” a stern voice commanded. Stiles went limp, and the arms let go of him.

“Kali, she's... she's...” Stiles gasped out, waving a hand in the direction of where her body would be.

Rafael frowned. “Where?”

Stiles shook his head. “Just, just on the field, I... Just, the field. She's dead.”

“Stay here.”

Stiles could only nod as Rafael walked out there, sagging against the bleachers and trying to catch his breath. Other cops had started to pool in, and Stiles had to wonder why Rafael was there, actually.

But before he could, he saw his father striding towards him, his face pinched with worry as he grabbed Stiles by the neck and pulled him into a tight hug.

Stiles gave into it, because, in these past few days, he really, _really_ needed a hug. He had found the dead bodies of two students in his school, and he was _done_. He had to find this guy before he killed _Stiles_. Obviously the body was meant for him. Left on the lacrosse field, just where Stiles was meeting someone who could've told him who did it?

The sheriff pulled away from Stiles just as Rafael appeared in front of them. Who wasted no time in getting to the point. “What were you doing here, Stiles?” His father walked off to talk to one of the deputies.

Stiles shook his head. “I was... I was meeting with someone. I got, uh, an anonymous tip. About who killed Ennis.”

“And who was the tip from?”

“I don't know, they ran off before I could tell. Got spooked by the body.”

Rafael sighed and wrote something down on his notepad. “Do you think this person may have killed Kali?”

Stiles frowned. “I guess so... I don't know. Maybe.”

Rafael gave him a cold look. “And you've been investigating this murder? Even though the FBI and local authorities are on the case?”

Stiles shrugged and stayed silent.

“It's interesting... that you found another dead body, isn't it?”

Stiles glared at him. “What are you trying to say? That I did it? That I killed them?”

“I'm just saying, it's interesting.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Do I need to get a lawyer?”

Rafael raised an eyebrow. “I don't know, do you?”

Stiles crossed his arms and shut up.

The sheriff walked up to them. “Stiles, you're not going to school tomorrow. You'll be at the station, where I can keep an eye on you.”

Stiles' mouth fell open in indignation. “But, dad, I've got a chem test tomorrow!”

* * *

Scott had freaked out when he found out about Kali. He kept gripping Stiles' shoulder and checking Stiles to see if he was physically intact and Stiles let him, because he was exhausted and seriously thinking of taking up his father's offer of staying at the station all day.

“So, you tripped over her? Jeez, that sounds traumatic.”

Stiles shrugged and tried not to picture it. Because he wanted to keep his breakfast down. “The cops said she bled to death. She was hit in the back of the head with something, a blunt instrument.”

Stiles had spent all night burning his clothes in the fireplace while his father hovered, and then taking a half hour shower.

“But at least we know that _The Benefactor_ is a girl. Didn't get any info, though. She bolted as soon as she saw the dead body.”

Scott pulled a sympathetic face. “Sucks, dude. We were close.”

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, well we know that whoever killed Kali knew I was going to be there. So either it was this Benefactor girl, or someone... overheard Derek and I, _dammit_.”

Scott frowned. “What about Derek?”

“Derek and I had a fight, kinda. About whether or not I should go. We were pretty loud, anyone in the parking lot could've heard.”

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Dude, trouble in paradise?” He grinned, and Stiles shoved his shoulder. “Nah, seriously, does it piss you off that he was right?”

“What?”

“I mean, the killer _was_ there, so you _shouldn't_ have gone, and you found a dead body, so he was kinda right.”

Stiles scowled at his best friend. “Shut up.”

They rounded the corner of the corridor and found Derek leaning against Stiles' locker, today wearing black, tight jeans and worn out Chucks with a maroon henly and his usual leather jacket. Seriously, it's like he's _trying_ to look intimidating and unapproachable.

“Are you okay?” he asked when he noticed us.

“Yeah,” Stiles answered unconvincingly.

“He tripped over Kali's dead, bloodied body,” Scott offered.

“Thanks, Scotty, I was looking to _not_ throw up today.”

“I saw,” Derek said.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Please tell me you didn't-”

“I was there.”

“-do _that_ , dude, what the hell?”

Derek shrugged. “I wasn't going to let you go by yourself, Stiles. I actually do have a conscience.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, even though it gave him a funny feeling that Derek actually _cared_ enough to follow him like a creeper to the lacrosse field or whatever.

“Why didn't you, you know, come out?”

Derek shrugged. “I almost got to you, but that cop got there first. I'm not good with cops,” he added uncomfortably.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “We noticed. Did you see the Benefactor girl?”

Derek frowned. “Girl?” he echoed.

Stiles nodded. “Obviously a girl. She didn't tell me anything, ran off before I could get it out of her.”

The bell rang shrilly, and Scott nodded to them both. “I have chemistry with Harris, see you guys later,” he said, disappearing into the crowd.

Stiles opened his locker and rifled through it, trying to find his English folder.

Derek grabbed Stiles' shoulders and pulled him away from his locker, closing it with one hand and Stiles turned around in his arms. “We're going to the library.”

“Dude-!” Stiles protested. “Why?”

“Because you can track the IP address of the tip. Just ditch class.”

“Some people care about their education,” Stiles muttered, but he followed Derek anyway, because it turns out hanging around a 'bad boy' like Derek was bringing out his inner rebel.

The ancient librarian gave them a dirty look when they walked in, but didn't call them out on ditching, so Stiles counted it as a win and headed for the computer.

Derek opened up the Beacon Hills High Newspaper email inbox, and then relinquished control of the computer to Stiles.

Stiles clicked on the email in question, and then clicked around to open the email's headers. He copied the header and opened another window, bringing up IP2Location.com and pasting the IP.

He scrolled down the page and frowned. “Yeah, I'm not recognising this address.

Derek leaned forward, his brow furrowed, before his eyes widened in recognition. “Shit.”

Stiles looked at him. “You know whose address this is?” 

Derek nodded. “Braeden Tandy.” His voice went really weird.

Stiles nudged him with an elbow. “Got history with this girl or what?”

Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “You can talk to her yourself.”

“What? But you're my wingman.”

“Stiles. Just talk to her.”

Stiles sighed heavily and stood up. He knew who Braeden hung out with, he knew where she'd be. “Fine, jeez. I'll call you later, tell you what I found out.”

* * *

“Braeden Tandy?”

The girl in question turned, and Stiles was hit with an eyeful of scars, running down Braeden's face and neck. Some kind of wolf attack, he heard, before she moved to California.

“Yes?” she asked roughly, narrowing her eyes at him. The group around them, the smokers, puffed out cigarette smoke and grinned at Stiles, who suddenly felt like he was in a den of predators and he was the prey.

“I'm Stiles Stilin-”

“The kid who keeps finding dead bodies, we know who you are,” Braeden interrupted. “What do you want?”

Stiles smirked at her. “I want to talk to you. In private.”

Braeden's eyes widened for a second, before she blew a puff of smoke in Stiles' face and stubbed out her cigarette. Stiles coughed and waved the smoke away, and she grabbed his hand and led him away.

“What do you want, Stiles?” she asked, letting go of Stiles and glaring at him.

“You sent the newspaper an anonymous tip, didn't you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “How did you find out?”

Stiles let out a breath, feeling, for the first time, that everything was finally going his way. “I traced your IP address. Why did you run last night?”

Braeden shot him a withering look. “I tripped over a fucking _dead body_ , Stiles. I wasn't sticking around.”

Stiles gave her a serious look. “You said you'd tell me who the killer is.”

Braeden glanced over her shoulder, and then back at Stiles, leaning forward a bit. “I have a blog. It's called Teen Wolves.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, though he supposed the girl who got attacked by wolves would have a slight obsession with them afterwards.

“I post pictures of the most popular kids, you know? Doing things like picking their noses, stuffing their faces, making out with losers. There's a good one of you and Kali at Lydia Martin's party last summer.”

 _Ouch_.That was unnecessary.

“I was out for Ennis, to catch him in the act. He covered my bike in plastic wrap and the sun melted it on, so I was kinda pissed off. I heard he was sleeping around with the sheriff's son's boyfriend, so I followed him to Ethan's, to take photos for my blog. And, I, uh, saw the killer. With Ennis.”

“Who was it?” Stiles asked, leaning forward more, because Braeden's voice was getting more hushed the more she spoke.

“I recognised his clothes, and the hair. It was Derek Hale.”

* * *

Stiles blamed himself. For finding all these dead bodies and basically being a harbinger of death, really. Attracting cadavers and their killers, he should put it on his resume.

“Derek? I knew it!” Scott exclaimed. Allison, who was curled around his arm, frowned.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Scott, you did not.”

“I did,” he insisted. “I said, right from the start, that he gives off those serial-killer vibes. All scowly and hating the world.”

“Did Braeden say she saw Derek's face?” Allison asked.

Stiles shook his head. “She said she saw someone in a leather jacket and with dark hair.”

Allison frowned. “I don't know... maybe you shouldn't jump to conclusions.”

Stiles' phone started ringing, and speak of the devil, it was Derek.

“Uh... hey,” Stiles answered.

“Did you talk to Braeden?” Derek asked, his voice gruff and possibly the voice of a killer.

“Uh, yeah, no, she said she saw a... nothing. She isn't a reliable witness.”

There was a pause. “Are you sure? You don't go to all that trouble for an unreliable tip.”

“I'm sure.” Scott nudged him, and Stiles worked to lower the pitch of his voice. “Listen, I have to go... I'll see you later.” Stiles hung up before Derek could reply.

Allison shook her head at him. “You have to be one hundred percent positive that Derek is the killer before you go throwing around wild accusations.”

Stiles clicked his fingers. “Allison, you're a genius!”

Scott grinned, and Allison frowned. “Why?”

Stiles grabbed Scott's arm and pulled him down the corridor, Allison trailing behind them. “We break into Derek's house, see if there's anything incriminating in there.”

Allison sighed. “That is _not_ what I suggested.”

* * *

The plan involved _more_ ditching from school, and Stiles was fearing for his grades, but not as much as he was fearing for his life, so it was a small sacrifice.

Phase one was getting rid of Derek's parental figures. And that plan involved sacrificing Scott.

Scott knocked on the door while Stiles hid in the bushes. A man answered, one that looked like Derek except smoother, softer.

“Um, hi,” Scott said nervously. “Is your car... is it parked outside?”

Derek's father frowned. “Yes. Why?” he asked suspiciously.

Scott winced. “I, uh, _may_ have hit it with my car.”

“ _What?_ ” The man abandoned his doorstep and strode towards where his car was parked, Scott following him and sticking a thumbs-up to where Stiles was hiding in the bushes.

Stiles crept up to the door and slipped through, praying to God that Derek's mother wasn't in. He went upstairs, trying not to let the house overwhelm him because it was everything Derek wasn't- light, floral, happy, homely.

Stiles opened a few doors and had almost given up when he opened one to reveal a room, tidy and clean, with white walls and a perfectly made bed. There was a desk with papers stacked in a neat pile, and camera equipment ordered in size. The only messy thing was the piles of books at the side of the bed.

Goddamnit, Stiles always had a thing for smart, bookworm-y people, he couldn't encourage his... _crush_ on a possible murder suspect.

Stiles rifled through the papers first, finding nothing but reports and articles most likely to be printed in the latest issue of Beacon Hills High Newspaper. Seriously, it needed a catchier name.

So Stiles instead chose to examine the pile of books. Maybe their was a _How to Murder People_ book, or Stiles would even take a _Forensic Science 101_ as cold hard evidence at this point.

“Caw! Caw!”

Oh no. Scott didn't just-

“Caw!”

Stiles went to the window and opened it, peering down at Scott, who was crouching in the bushes. “What the hell is that?” Stiles hissed

“A bird call, dude!”

“Birds don't go 'caw', what the fuck?”

“Derek's here, Stiles, abort, abort!”

Stiles ducked back in the window and swore. His eyes darted around the room, trying to find a good hiding place.

Stiles crawled under the bed just as the door opened, and he held his breath. A pair of black boots entered the room, and then someone was sitting on the bed. A hand unlaced the boots and slid them off, and then Derek was standing up again.

Stiles heard the rustle of clothing and _shit_ , Derek was undressing. With Stiles in the room. Watching, like a complete creeper.

Stiles looked up, and glimpsed the edge of the sheets poking out. _Star Wars_ themed. Of course they were. Of course Derek liked Star Wars. Stiles had to go and find his dream guy, and then suspect him of murder.

Stiles peeked out again, and then squeezed his eyes shut at the vision of Derek's back. His muscular, tanned, tattooed back.

Stiles _had_ to open his eyes again, because he didn't know Derek had a tattoo and he was pretty sure it was a triskele and it looked _amazing_ , just in time to see Derek's fingers sliding his jeans down, and Stiles prayed, _prayed_ , but nope, he was going commando.

“Oh, my god, stop,” Stiles muttered, closing his eyes again and hating himself for taking the moral high ground here. While hiding under Derek's bed. After breaking into his house.

“Holy-” Derek jumped back, his arms coming up to cover his chest as if he were a girl, while Stiles crawled out from under the bed. “What the hell, Stiles?”

Stiles took a deep breath. “Uh, hey.”

“What were you doing under my bed?” Derek asked slowly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was saying.

Stiles winced. “Uh... hiding.”

“From?”

“You?”

Derek looked like he couldn't tell whether to be angry or confused. “Why were you hiding from me? Why were you in _my room_?”

Siles shrugged and looked away, at the closet. “Uh, because I was investigating.” He cleared his throat. “You. To find evidence that you murdered Ennis and Kali.”

“Derek, are you okay?” his father called out from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, everything's fine,” Derek gritted out, not breaking eye contact with Stiles.

There was a moment of unbearable silence.

“So, uh, I'm just going to-”

“Why do you think I killed them?” Derek demanded.

Stiles winced at the tone. “Uh... Braeden said you did it. She, uh, saw your jacket and your hair.”

Derek sighed. “For the love of God, Stiles, I broke up with her. She hates me now.”

Stiles frowned. “You went out with Braeden Tandy?”

Derek shrugged. “It was a mistake, I broke up with her once she started getting possessive and weird, and she hasn't forgiven me. Of course she would accuse me of murder.”

“Then what about your jacket, huh?” Stiles challenged, because this situation was getting out of his control, and he wanted it back.

“You mean my leather jacket? How many people wear leather jackets, Stiles?”

Stiles bit his lip. “What about the hair?”

Derek let out a bitter laugh. “You know what? I don't have to take this from you. I. Didn't. Do it.”

Stiles tried to find the lie, but there was none, not really. Derek was making sense. Everyone wore leather jackets, and heaps of people had the same hair colour as him. Stiles was just so eager to figure this out, to get his ex-boyfriend's name cleared, and to sate his own curiosity, that he didn't actually stop to _think_.

“Oh, God, I am _so_ sorry.”

Derek gave Stiles a flat look. “Just get out.”

Stiles opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came out, so he just muttered another 'sorry' and slunk out of the door, away from the hot, steamy pile of anger Derek was radiating, and _hurt_ , Jesus, Stiles didn't feel guilty enough. Derek's dad looked up from his newspaper as Stiles came downstairs.

“You a friend of Derek's? Or Cora?”

Stiles froze. “I... uh, I just had notes for Derek for class.”

Derek's father nodded and turned back to his newspaper, and Stiles got the hell outta dodge.

Scott emerged from the bushes. “He didn't murder you?”

Stiles shook his head. “It wasn't him.”

Scott frowned. “You sure?”

“Certain.”

“Well, damn.” Stiles loved his best friend for that, for just trusting Stiles' judgement. “If it's not Derek, and it's not Jackson, and it's not Braeden, then who is it?”

Stiles threw an arm over Scott's shoulders as they headed towards the jeep. “Bro, that's the million-dollar question.”

* * *

Stiles got home and spends the rest of the day as a depressed blob on the couch. His dad kept making concerned faces and comments.

“Is this about Ethan, kiddo?”

Stiles groaned into the couch cushion his face was smushed into. It was about Ethan. It was about Derek. It was about Kali and Ennis and this goddamn teenage homicidal maniac that seemed hell-bent on _taunting_ Stiles.

The sheriff patted his shoulder. “Stiles, they'll find him. Everything will be fine. You just have to concentrate on your school work.”

Stiles groaned some more.

“Listen, I have to get to work, but have something to eat, okay? And, for god's sake, sleep. Don't think I didn't notice you haven't been, lately. I'm a sheriff, I notice things.”

Stiles lifted his head from the cushion. “When will you be back?”

His father shrugged. “I'll check in on you in an hour or two, but my shift ends at six.” He holstered his gun and headed for the door.

Stiles, after another twenty minutes of lying on the couch, realised that he should maybe take a shower.

He headed upstairs, for the bathroom. Under the hot spray of the shower, he contemplated the following: becoming a monk; moving to mexico; dropping out of school and becoming a drug dealer so he wouldn't have to deal with all the drama that had suddenly headed his way.

Stiles switched the shower off after what had to be pushing the half-hour mark. He wrapped the towel around his waist and shook out his dripping hair, walking into his room and switching the light on.

“Holy mother of God!” he screeched, clutching at the towel at his waist. “Ethan, _what the fuck_?”

Ethan was lying on Stiles' bed, and he jumped up, his eyes wide at Stiles' scream.

“Stiles, I'm sorry, I just... I had no where else to go.”

Stiles waited until his heart had stopped beating like a hummingbird's and gave Ethan a cool glare. “This is the sheriff's house. You're a fucking idiot.”

Ethan smiled, though it looked hollow and weak. He looked like a zombie. Pale, thin, tired.

But before he could open his mouth and respond, Stiles' bedroom door slammed open, and then there was a gun and his father and a whole heap of shouting from Ethan, things like, “Don't shoot! Please, god, don't shoot!”

“Ethan Carver, you're under arrest for the murders of Ennis Wade and Kali Terrel. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do-”

Stiles rubbed a hand down his face as his father recited Ethan's rights, still dripping wet, still in his towel.

* * *

Ethan's arrest made front page of the local news, and was the main subject of gossip the next week at school. And everyone avoided Stiles like he was a leper.

And that was when Stiles was ambushed, for the second time, by Marin Morell.

“Stiles, how are you feeling?” she asked, in step with me as I walked to my first-period class.

“Fine,” Stiles replied. “And please don't say something like 'you can feel fine, but fine is not a feeling', because I can't handle that crap right now.”

Marin just smiled. “Stiles, I really think you need to talk, don't you?”

Stiles frowned at the floor, and evaluated the feelings that he was feeling or whatever.

Yeah, he really needed to talk.

“Okay, fine, let's talk,” Stiles sighed, surrendering.

They ducked into her office, where Stiles sat at her couch, looking around at the wall of certificates, feeling like a fool. He had no idea how to talk about his feelings, to be honest. There wasn't a lot of it in the Stilinski household.

“Would you like some tea?” Marin asked, holding out a flask.

Stiles shrugged, and she poured some in a mug, handing it to him.

Then the phone rang, and Marin gave Stiles an apologetic look before answering it.

Stiles preferred this though. Just sitting there, sipping some kind of herbal tea, not doing anything. Not subjected to suspicious looks or talking to someone and wondering if _they_ were a killer. He could just sip his tea, and focus on the pictures on Marin's desk.

There was one of a large dog. And Stiles means _large_. Like, the size of a bear, large. Marin was hugging it and it was licking her face, and for some reason it made Stiles smile, which he supposed was the reason behind it sitting there.

There was one of the same dog in a car, a small, unidentifiable kind of car, it's big head and half of it's body hanging out of the window.

Maybe Stiles should get a dog. He really wouldn't mind picking up the poop and paying for the food as long as he had someone to cuddle at night (Stiles liked cuddling, it was his dirty little secret) and someone to walk with. It'd be nice. He would get a slightly smaller one, though, so it could fit in the jeep. Though Stiles didn't know if he wanted a dog in his jeep, shedding all their dog hair. His jeep was sacred, like most people's cars were in high school.

 _Oh_.

Stiles set the mug on the desk immediately and Marin held the phone away from her face. “Stiles? Where are you going?”

“Uh, thanks, that helped a lot. The tea, yeah, thanks. You are the best at your job.” And then he was out the door.

The bell rang just as he dug his phone out of his pocket, and he scrolled through his contacts until he came to Derek's name.

Stiles tapped the call option and held it to his air. He could imagine Derek standing there, seeing Stiles' name come up and debating whether or not to answer the call.

But he did. “What.”

Stiles flinched at the unfriendly greeting. “There's a traffic camera on the light post outside your house, Derek. It might be able to show us something, maybe a car parked at the time of the murder. Do you think I can come over and look at it?”

There was a moment of contemplative silence. “I don't feel comfortable with you coming to my place.”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I deserved that. I am so sorry that I lied to you, and suspected you of murder. I love your _Star Wars_ sheets, I respect your boundaries, and I swear on my _jeep_ that I will never lie to you again.”

Derek huffed, but Stiles could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again. “I'll take down the camera and look through it, and text you if I find anything. After school.”

Derek hung up and Stiles grinned at his phone. The chamomile tea, and talking with Derek again, and having a new lead... it was all figuring itself out. Finally.

Though, he was still avoided like the plague, but once he figured out who the murderer was, maybe it'd calm down.

His phone vibrated with a new message and Stiles looked down at it to see a message from an unknown number.

_Its jackson_

Well, that cleared it up.

_I know who killed ennis and kali_

Stiles raised an eyebrow. He's been there, done that, got the damn t-shirt (in this case it was decorated with bloodstains).

The phone buzzed again.

_I have a video. Meet at midnight lacrosse field._

If Jackson really had a video, why didn't he show it to Stiles before? Why now? Was it some new kind of blackmail? Because if so, Jackson severely overestimated Stiles' allowance and hunger for justice.

But then... Stiles was close. This video, as long as there was no dead body this time, could blow the case wide open. Stiles has this _in the bag_. He was going to catch a murderer.

_I'll be there._

* * *

Stiles was sitting at home, alone, waiting for Derek to text. Which he didn't. It had been all day, it was close to nine, and he _still_ didn't have anything? This was a shitty kind of revenge.

So Stiles called him.

“Dude, what the hell is taking so long?”

Derek sighed. “Stiles, I have days of footage to get through. I think I'm close, though.”

“How soon can you get to the footage?”

“Why do you want them so soon?”

Stiles brushed a hand through his hair. “Lets just say I... Look, Jackson wants to meet up, tonight. He says he has a video, some information on who killed Ennis. I suppose it doesn't matter either way if you get the footage before or after I get the info, though.”

“I'm going with you.”

“What? No way!”

“Do I need to remind you what happened last time?”

Stiles gritted his teeth. “Last time, the killer found out where I was going to be because you shouted it out to the whole school.”

Derek huffed indignantly. “Look, I'm almost done. I'll hide behind the bleachers, he won't even know I'm there.”

Stiles sighed. “You're going to do it whether I want you to or not, aren't you?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles groaned. “ _Fine_. Be there at one. If you get caught, I'm blaming everything wrong with my life on you.”

Derek hung up, and Stiles checked the time. He had a few hours. He felt a bit guilty, because he did say he would never lie to Derek again, but he was trying to catch a murderer here. Such endeavours had no room for morality.

It was time to meet a blackmailer about a video.

* * *

Stiles had just locked the door behind him when his phone buzzed with a text.

_Almost done. Think I found something. I'll send the stills to you._

Stiles put the phone back in his pocket and made his way to the school.

The night was colder than usual, and he stupidly thought he could go without his fluffy socks, so he really hoped to god that everything would go down without a hitch and be done in ten minutes.

Of course, Derek would probably hate him forever for lying to him again, and Stiles wasn't sure if he could deal with that, considering how helpful he was being, but such was the price of justice.

Stiles made it to the lacrosse field with five minutes to spare, so he checked his phone. Derek had sent the photos while he had been sneaking around town, so he opened them up immediately.

“ _Shit_ ,” he muttered, looking over the pictures. There was one, the time clearly stated in the window of time Ennis would've been murdered, with a black sedan parked out the front of Ethan's.

Stiles recognised it.

He rang Derek's number impatiently, while his thoughts organised scenario after scenario because _he knew who the killer was_.

“You saw the pictures?”

“Yes, Derek, I know who the killer is!” Stiles said, his cold fingers tightening around his phone.

“The owner of the sedan? Who?”

“It's-” but instead of a name, a strangled kind of cry came out.

Probably because something had been loped around Stiles' neck and pulled tight.

Stiles dropped his phone, his fingers scrambling at the cord around his neck, too tight to yell, or speak, or cry out. He flailed, trying to throw the person off, but they were strong, whoever they were, and held on until Stiles' movements got weaker, and his vision darker. His eyelids threatened to close, and they did.

* * *

Stiles opened his eyes, and the first thing he registered, before the throbbing headache, was that he was tied to a chair. And _then_ the headache kicked in.

He opened his eyes, wincing, to see the shittiest thing. The band room. And, despite being in a dangerous situation where he was _strangled_ and _tied to a chair_ , he couldn't help but look over to the place where Ethan and Ennis were fucking in that video.

But instead, Stiles got an eyeful of Jennifer Blake.

Stiles huffed out a little laugh. “Knew it was you,” he slurred out, still disorientated.

Jennifer smirked. “Yeah, honey, I knew you'd find out. You're a smart little cookie, aren't you?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “You're a killer. You killed Ennis, and you killed Kali. What the fuck?”

Jennifer scowled. “ _Killer_ is such an ugly word, don't you think? I liberated them from life.” She grinned.

“Oh, my god, you're insane.”

Jennifer waved a hand. “Nah, that's not why I killed them.”

Stiles sighed. He had two choices: get the villainous monologue with a side of death-before-he-can-tell-anyone, or _don't_ get the villainous monologue, and still die.

“Why did you kill them, then?”

Jennifer shrugged. “Ennis... we were complicated. We were dating, you know. But he wanted to keep it a secret. He never actually gave me a reason why. Turns out that reason was that he wanted to be available and single so he could fuck whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted,” Jennifer snarled.

“So...” Stiles prompted. At least this way he was stalling his death.

“So I found out he was sleeping with your slut of a boyfriend, and I texted him. Told him to meet me at Ethan's. Ethan had no idea. I convinced Kali to come with me, but she wasn't really in it from the start, you know? Of course, it took both of us to take Ennis down.”

Stiles struggled against the rope, and felt a little give. If he could just keep her talking. “Why did you kill her, then?”

Jennifer's face went stormy. “That's _your_ fault. You had to go in, asking questions, makings Kali nervous. When she found out you were meeting someone at the lacrosse field about the murder, she panicked.” Jennifer smiled. “I tried to take out two birds with one stone. I killed her to keep her quiet. I was _meant_ to scare you off, but I suppose I just have to kill you.”

Stiles slipped a hand through the binds and kept a straight face as he freed his other one. “Well, joke's on you, because Jackson was meeting up with me for a tip about you.”

Jennifer grinned. “I thought you were smarter than that, Stiles,” she sneered. “ _I_ sent that text you moron. Jackson's not coming.”

Jennifer rounded in on Stiles, and he panicked. “What about the jacket?”

Jennifer stopped and tilted her head. “What jacket?”

“Braeden said she saw someone with a leather jacket in Ethan's room right before Ennis was killed.”

Jennifer tossed her hair back. “That was me.” She grinned. “I love that jacket. Seriously, it cost more than my sedan but it was worth it. It accentuates my curves, don't you think?”

Stiles shrugged, as much as he could while still pretending to have his hands tied up. “I wouldn't know. I haven't seen you wear it. Though, if you let me live, I could give you a rating. I'm sure you look fantastic.”

Jennifer sighed. “Look, Stiles, I don't actually _want_ to kill you. You're a good guy, and an _excellent_ kisser. But... Look, there's going to be a terrible accident,” she said solemnly. “A fire, in the band room. It's a shame that you just happened to be investigating when it went up in flames.”

Stiles prided himself on being aware of his environment, but he did not see the can of lighter fluid until Jennifer picked it up. She took out a lighter and gave Stiles a smug smile.

Stiles lunged forward, forgetting that his legs were still tied to the chair, and he and Jennifer went down in a mess of limbs and hair and chair.Jennifer shrieked and pushed him off her, and Stiles grabbed at her lighter. His hand bumped the lighter fluid and it tipped down, spilling on to the floor. Stiles jerked his hand away before it could spill on him.

Jennifer struggled into a sitting position, and then looked around. She reached behind a desk, and before Stiles knew what hit him, something _hit him,_ and he fell back.

His head was spinning, and the lighter fluid was just fueling his headache. He reached down and tugged the rope binding his legs to the chair until it came away. He kicked the chair away and when he looked up, Jennifer was standing over him, her hair a mess and her clothes crumpled, the lighter in her hand.

And Stiles could only watch, in slow motion, as she flicked it on, and dropped it into the puddle of lighter fluid right in front of him.

Stiles scrambled back from the flames as they spread, quicker than anticipated, and tried to stand, but Jennifer's boot came out of nowhere and kicked him in the face. Stiles fell back and groaned, the kick jarring his skull and disorientating his senses.

“Sorry, Stiles,” Jennifer called. Stiles blinked his eyes open just in time to see her duck out the door.

Stiles pushed up from the ground, groaning, and stumbled to his feet, lurching away from the growing flames, which had reached the sheet music and grown in size and heat.

“Help!” Stiles called out desperately, his voice weak. “ _Help! I'm in here!”_

The flames were backing him into a corner, and there were no windows (which was why she chose the band room). The heat was unbearable, the smoke scraping at the inside of his throat.

Stiles saved his breath, because the smoke was getting thicker, and who the fuck would be out this time of the night anyway?

Stiles backed himself into the corner, his skin sweating and his eyes watering.

Did people hallucinate in fires? Did the fumes get to them? Because when Stiles wiped away his tears, he swore he saw someone walk in. Someone with a big blanket on their shoulders, someone tall.

“Stiles!” Derek yelled at him.

Stiles squinted through his tears and the flames. “Derek?” he asked. Well, he thought he asked. He didn't know if he actually opened his mouth.

Stiles held out a hand and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes against the hallucination.

But then he felt large hands wrap around him, and then they must've walked into the flames because their was a sudden, burning heat, but it was okay because Stiles was wrapped in something, a blanket.

The cold air of the night hit Stiles' skin and he gasped in a lungful of air, his eyes snapping open with shock.

He pulled away from Derek and fell to his knees, sucking in breath after breath, but it wasn't enough. He could feel the darkness trying to pull him under, the welcome relief of numbness.

Stiles fell onto his back and squinted at the few stars he could see in the sky. The black of the night provided a canvas for the imprint of flames beneath Stiles' eyelids, and he struggled to keep them open.

And then Derek's face was on the canvas, looming above him, and he was slapping Stiles' cheeks lightly.

“Stiles, come on, stay with me,” he urged desperately, one arm coming around Stiles' shoulders to hold him up. “Come on, talk to me.”

Stiles reached up a hand and touched his stubble. “Whoa,” he mumbled. Derek's beard felt all prickly and soft at the same time, how did that happen?

Derek choked out a laugh, or was it a sob? And his face started getting closer and closer, until he was pressing his lips to Stiles' lips.

Stiles wanted to react, he wanted to kiss him back, but his eyelids were getting heavy so he closed them, and promptly passed out.

* * *

Stiles woke up in an ambulance. He had EMTs taking his blood pressure and asking him questions about the day of the week and who the president was and what day he was born, before they found him stable enough to be tackled with a rough hug from his dad.

“Don't you _ever_ do anything like that again, Stiles,” his dad muttered into Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles just clung on to his father and nodded.

According to Rafael, Derek was freaked when Stiles dropped his phone, and drove to the meeting place. When he couldn't find Stiles, he almost called the cops to report him missing when he'd seen the smoke rising from the band room. He rushed in there without thinking (of course), and was lucky enough to find a fire safety blanket by the door. He then burst through the flames to save Stiles, which Stiles will forever think was unbelievable hot and sweet and heroic, and then called the cops.

Derek took off once he knew I was fine, apparently.

Stiles licked his lips as Rafael told him this, struggling to come to terms with the fact that Derek's lips had touched his. They _kissed._ Him and Derek. In a life-or-death situation.

“We have an APB out on Jennifer,” Rafael continued. “But I think it would be safer if you took the night off with your son, sheriff.”

Stiles' father didn't even bother with his usual hostile demeanor towards the FBI agent, instead choosing to nod and continue talking to the EMT about checking to make sure Stiles didn't have a concussion. Which meant he wasn't having a good night's sleep tonight, yay.

* * *

They caught Jennifer the next day, when she turned up to school acting like nothing had happened. Stiles wasn't there to witness it, because after everything? He spent the whole day sleeping.

Scott came by after school, obviously freaked out that he had to hear what had happened to Stiles via Beacon Hills High rumour mill and then a brief summary by Derek. Stiles, Scott, and Allison spent the rest of the afternoon watching anime shows and avoiding the subjects of death and Derek and Jennifer and Ethan.

Ethan was released and all charges were dropped, but when Stiles was finally healed enough to return to school, while he still had a few stares here and there, it was nothing compared to the leper treatment Ethan got.

Stiles felt bad for him, sure. His friends had forsaken him, and the girls were bitching about him, and the teachers were throwing him suspicious or pitying looks. But Stiles was completely over him. Hell, he had run a murder investigation, he had figured out who the killer was when the FBI was completely incompetent, he had survived being attacked and brought a murderer to justice. Stiles was awesome, and he deserved so much more than Ethan.

So he let Ethan suffer the whispers and the stares on his own.

Stiles didn't go to Ennis' funeral, or Kali's. He wasn't sure if he would be welcome, and he didn't want to risk a confrontation with their parents. Besides, not to speak ill of the dead, but he didn't even like them that much.

In the days that he had stayed at home, Stiles hadn't heard anything from Derek. Which was fine, totally fine. Theirs was a strict business arrangement. He'd get his exclusive story, and Stiles could go back to normal life. The kiss was just adrenaline, Stiles understood that. They ran in different circles, they had nothing to do with each other.

So, at lunch, the first day he was back, Stiles had no reason to sulk over his pudding cup. None. He was just tired from almost dying.

“Dude, just talk to him,” Scott suggested, digging into his meal with his usual enthusiasm.

Stiles scoffed. “Talk to who? I don't need to talk to anyone. What are you even talking about?”

Scott gave him a flat look, one that said Stiles-I'm-not-taking-any-of-your-bullshit. Stiles was well-acquainted. “Look, he kissed you, right? You don't get kissed if the dude doing the kissing isn't interested in you.”

Stiles stared back down at his pudding cup. “Yeah, no, it's just-”

“What's your explanation, then?”

Stiles grimaced. “Adrenaline.”

Scott leaned back. “I thought you'd be more creative, Stiles. That's just weak.”

Stiles poked his tongue out at Scott. “You're meant to be on my side.”

Scott tilted his head. “I _am_ on your side. You're awesome, Stiles, Derek would be lucky to kiss you. Also, during this whole drama, he's been giving you come-hither eyes. It was gross and made me uncomfortable.”

Stiles snorted. “Right.”

“And I know for a fact that they're come-hither eyes because I'm looking at them right now.”

Stiles looked up at Scott's smirk, and then shot a look over his shoulder, where Derek had just entered the cafeteria. And was looking at him. With eyes. Stiles still wasn't sure if they were come-hither or not.

Stiles slunk low in his seat. “Hide me. Pretend you're talking to me.”

Scott looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I _am_ talking to you, Stiles.”

A tray dropped onto the table next to Stiles and he looked up. “Oh, hey, Derek.” He cringed at how high his voice was, while Derek sat down next to him and raised an eyebrow.

Scott opened his mouth to say something when a blur of brown curls jumped him. “Sorry, emergency, I think I might be pregnant! Carry on!” Allison said, tugging Scott away.

Stiles stared after them, his mouth open in indignation, though it was a totally plausible lie. They've been going at it like rabbits since day one.

Stiles cleared his throat and stared back down at his pudding cup. “So, uh, we solved the case.”

“I suppose you planned getting kidnapped by the killer, then?”

Stiles glanced at Derek with a frown. “I honestly don't know which answer you'd prefer.”

Derek glared at him. Yep, definitely not come-hither eyes. “You have no self-preservation at all, do you?”

Stiles pushed his pudding cup away. “Dude, Jennifer's behind bars, no one else is dead. That's a win. Focus on the positives, Grumpy.”

“You promised you wouldn't lie to me again.”

Damn.

Stiles found himself looking right into those greeny-gold eyes, unyielding, strong. “Thank you for saving my life,” he said softly. Because they both knew that sorry was an overused word.

Derek's eyes scanned Stiles' face, as if looking for something. “That was terrifying, Stiles. I wouldn't – couldn't – bear it if you had died in that fire.” His voice was full of something much more than what he was talking about, more raw emotion than Stiles had expected.

And then Stiles remembered that his family had almost died in a fire lit by Derek's psychotic ex-girlfriend.

Stiles glanced down at his hands, the only part of him that had suffered, though now they were only a burning pink, resembling little more than a sunburn. He had the sudden urge to grab Derek's hand, and he gave in to it. “Derek, I didn't. I didn't die, because of you. You saved my life. And... And I know I lied to you, and I will do anything to make it up to you.” Stiles frowned, really hoping that Derek didn't need his locker cleaned out or a personal assistant or whatever.

“Anything?” Derek asked, raising his eyebrows, a smirk on his face.

Stiles swatted his arm. “Within reason.” His cheeks went red at the thought of _anything_.

Derek smiled, and _wow_ , how could someone so broody and frowny have such a beautiful smile? He leaned forward a little bit, until his mouth was at Stiles' ear and Stiles could feel his breath tickling his neck. “I think dinner sounds pretty reasonable.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath and tried to find something to say, before thinking _fuck it, I almost died the other day._ He pulled back and grabbed Derek's face, leaning forward and capturing his lips in a kiss that surprised them both.

Their lips worked together, finding a rhythm, chaste and sweet and hesitant. Stiles tilted his head for a better angle and Derek drew back with a hand at Stiles' chest when he tried to follow.

Stils opened his eyes, expecting to have read the situation wrong, experiencing a moment of panic at seeing anger or confusion in Derek's eyes, but instead Derek was smiling, his eyes bright.

“If you took that any further we'd get arrested by your dad for public indecency,” he explained. He let out a light laugh, scratching at his neck awkwardly, and Stiles swore he looked almost _shy_. Derek Hale, _shy._ “I actually came to ask you... I mean, we worked well together, and the newspaper could use a reporter like you.”

Stiles bit his lip, looking back down at his hands. He had never even thought about being a journalist. Growing up, all he wanted was to be a detective. He never really saw the benefits of reporting to his future career.

Until, obviously, now.

“I'm in. Wait, do you get paid?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I'll pick you up at seven tonight.”

Stiles frowned. “This could work out like a _Romeo and Juliet_ play.”

Derek gave him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, because you don't like cops. And I'm the son of the sheriff.”

The look on Derek's face was pure dread. “Nobody is committing any suicide.”

Stiles scowled at him. “What worries me is that by your tone of voice you totally think that's a valid concern.”

Derek stood up and picked up his tray, his lunch untouched. He leaned down and pressed another kiss to Stiles' lips, a firm, chaste one. Derek walked out, dumping his tray, and Stiles watched him go.

And the something inside him, some dormant instinct, urged him to look across the room, where he saw Scott and Allison, grinning at him like idiots, Scott giving him a thumbs up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You guys give me joy :D [Here's my tumblr](http://unadulterated-exasperation.tumblr.com/) if anyone wanted to peer into the depths of my blog.


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